Refuge? A Guitar Chord? Absolutely.

I have been reading a lot of books as of late that are written in Old English; therefore, I prithee, may you not be so mindful of such relic-tasting discourse written hereto of solitude.

As long as I can remember, I've been quite accustomed to this word. Solitude. (Mmm) It begins to strike a minor chord within my soul. Not that this chord is meant to wrought a gloomy, defeatist sentiment as to bring in an ambience of fallen countenance; on the contrary, it brings a pleasantry of harmonies that must be appreciated when carefully examined. Appreciated? In every respect. May I provoke your mind to unfold this musical mystery? -How does one sound affect another sound when put together with another sound and another, et cetera?- The unveiling of such shall bring you your appreciation, or lack thereof- I pray not. The harmonies of this minor chord I have put in allegory. These notes, that make up such a beautiful pleasantry, are the miscellaneous Seasons of Life that have brought me to solitude and I shall, with all dexterity, do my best to convey such an impression upon the mind.

The Musical Note I call Three-Flat (3b):
June 30th, 2006 brought forth sorrow's misery with a covert vengeance. Unexpectedly be faced with a tragedy, the question, 'how will my vessel steer straight-ward in the currents of emotion", was not accounted for. Without going into too much detail, my older brother- my only brother- had passed away and "jumped the Great Boa". It is not mine intent to bring such an atmosphere sorrowful, so please bear with me wherein I may sound a bit cynical in the following excerpt:
-This musical note was one of much cynicism- in it's obvious nature- for this deleterious epoch of mine had it's malevolent effect on me. I was grievously vexed at sympathy being bombarded with phone calls and text messages. Empathy was my adversary in whom I utterly hated with a passion. Especially those who uttered the words, "I understand", notwithstanding no such tragedy ever befalling them, to which my blood would boil at the thought of those who so ignorantly would say they 'understood' what torment hath befallen my family; wherein, I would reply, "F*ck you", without hesitation (my apologies for the crudeness)-who wouldn't? In the frangible theology of my Faith and Love in Christ, and not desiring my ambivalence put to ruin precious friendships of mine, I uncoupled myself a yonder and found myself in a new season/note that hath brought me to solitude for fear of damaging relationships: Three-Flat. This note is of the utmost importance because without this note the Chord would never be a minor.

The other notes that I've been through thus far consists of different seasons such as the many...many Summers of Bachelorhood; Winters of Lonesome-Holidays; Springs of Hopeless-Romance; and the next note of equal utmost importance: the Root note which determines which minor Chord is being played:

The Musical Note I call RootWord:
- I have never in my life read the Word of God and studied His character as much as I have these past few years in seeking Him through these seasons. Knowing full well that Christ has taken off my filthy rags, clothed me in His Robe of Righteousness as He died there upon that Cross wearing what used to be my raiments...How could I not run after a Savior with such love and affection! While this note was being played, I took heed to the Psalmist's sayings: 31 & 71: In Thee, O Lord, I have taken refuge; Let me never be ashamed...for Thou art my rock and my fortress. And many more.

That word Refuge by definition means, "a condition of being safe or sheltered from pursuit, danger, or trouble".

Indeed I have taken Refuge in my God for within the shadow of His wing I find the warmth of His beating heart in which I am intimately prospering in knowledge of Him whereby such fruitfulness is seen by evidence of my heart being shaped like His. Solitude. Mmm, this minor Chord runs it's pleasantries within my soul. Nostalgic of the many seasons, destructive and merriment, that brought me thither; the Lord my Refuge found in such seasons of solitude; truly, I must say, He is the full conversation of this minor Chord to which I will now name:

The Musical Minor Chord I call REFUGEm7 (Refuge minor 7)

Jars of Clay- Amazing Grace

I grew this heart into a drifter
I never felt the roots I bare
I sold my sight, oh brother, sister
For a mountain of fool's gold, it's gone
Only God knows, God knows where

My soul was restless for redemption
My feet were lookin' for a place to stand
Well, I ain't got no life
And you know I ain't got no money
Just the faith of an empty hand

Amazing grace, I feel you coming up slowly now
Like the sun is risin', heat on my face
Oh love that keeps on shinin', don't let the shadow come
Ya know I gotta feel your healin' rays

I hitched a ride, I was a beggar
I had murder on my hands
I needed water to rinse these stains
But only blood could remove what's spillin'
And pardon me the blame


--How can one receive Christ if they do not see the need for Christ?--

My soul was restless for redemption

"But I replied, Lord I am a great, a very great Sinner: And He answered, My Grace is sufficient for thee. The I said, but Lord, what is Believing? And then I saw from that saying, He that cometh to me shall never hunger, and he that believeth on me shall never thirst that Believing and Coming was all one; and that he that came, that is, ran out in his heart and affections after Salvation by Christ, he indeed believed in Christ. Then water stood in mine eyes..."
"...for there never came thought into my heart before now, that showed me so the beauty of Jesus Christ: It made me love a Holy Life, and long to do something for the honour and glory of the name of the Lord Jesus; Yea, I thought that had I now a thousand gallons of blood in my body, I could spill it all for the sake of the Lord Jesus."


And you know I ain't got no money. Just the faith of an empty hand.

"You Can't Handle The Truth!" or Just Dancin' To The Humpty Hump

These past few months I find my mind wandering around with certain thoughts that keep me restless from sun rise to past zenith- restless where sleep is deprived of me. Not so much as an aimless wander as if trapped in an ever changing labyrinth, nay, but a wandering of such with an aim guided by series of what seems like interrogations at a simple thought. Perhaps I shall change the word 'wander' in exchange for 'wrestle'-just for this moment- yes, wrestle: Surely my mind has been wrestling causing me to be restless (wrest- and rest-, eh eh? ...nvm). Ahem. But for what? Before I dive into many nachos too deep to comprehend, I shall give a premise to put your mind at ease from this mental jargon.

Here it is: Predestination vs. Free-will, or, Predestination vs. Divine Election (that should be MORE than enough for a premise); Logic vs. Absolutism; Logical vs. Plausible; The Doctrine of Repentance, of Regeneration; and I shall stop there before you think my mind has fallen into a frenzy, in which, I would not disagree with you if you would think so.

For what? Because I want to know. For I have been taught and so I have believed; however, some kind of impulse within me begs the questions, "Why do I believe? What reasons can I give for the things in which I believe?" This impulse so familiar, so innate that I am not just acquainted, rather, I am intimate with it as the murdered is with it's murder weapon. Impulse. I shall name it something. She will be called Desire in all respect.

Desire is she who guides my mind in it's wandering on her Riverboat of Questions finding rest, or lack thereof, at the Dock of Answers. I could only hope that I am on a stream of the river that will lead me to moist earth- preferably- to find tranquility and peace of mind; however, if it be that the stream may lead me to a vast ocean, I may conclude that Desire hath still brought me to a place of tranquility and peace of mind. How so? On the former side, Desire has been appeased with an answer and so follows my mind. On the latter side, I understand that some mysteries remain unrevealed and are only revealed in the age to come- Heaven- and this brings me comfort. What have I to lose? I find the only difficulty in all of this is, "How long is the river that Desire rows me through and does she tire not?" For I get weary.

Enough with the allegory.

There are people who are so desirous to know an answer and with all their tenaciousness will hop on board a riverboat as on a journey; notwithstanding that the end of the river is unknown, they simply row on. Many people know me and how opinionated I can be. Call me an arrogant bastard if you want; regardless, I'll do my best to articulate with gentleness and listen with humility. The reason for that is simply because I want to know. Maybe not to the extreme of these 'desirous people', but enough to simply get my mind around a series of Q & A's. Simply. That word seems so alien to me at this present moment. The very reason why (if you've read down this far) I went off on this mental jargon is simply this:

I feel that the thought process of my mind has become so complex, that I have lost the beauty in simplicity. Complex as in because of this desire to know what, or Whom, it is that I study, I find myself in frustration and restlessness; nevertheless, I am comforted and blessed at the discoveries of this knowledge-for knowledge is precious if applied and not idle- and this makes me want to know more (of Him and His Word). And the cycle goes on. However, as of this moment, being so wearied from the premise, I wonder at the blissfulness of ignorance: simply, not knowing and what calm it would bring to which I perceive that this 'wonder' flows against the knowledge of the Lord that I continue to receive- for He is infinite and so good as to reveal Himself to me in grace- which has burned within me this desire to progress and grow in love for the Lord God TO WHICH NOW I will say to blissful ignorance:

To hell with you.

//////

If you've never read Haruki Murakami's unbelievable creative works, YOU ARE MISSING OUT! One of my favorite books that he's written is called Norwegian Wood. It's being made into a film right now :) :) :). If you'd like a copy to read it, I can let you borrow mine. He writes so...so...ugh...I can't even think of a word that adequately fits him.

He's descriptive. Emotional. Colorful. Amazing.

Good night.

Cry Me A River or Inception F'ed With My Mind

I had a dream last night. I was lying in bed and this particular woman, whom I recognize, parallel from me, lay there as if benumbed to the chestnut colored blanket we shared. She scurried to me ever so slowly with complete stealth, as to go unnoticed, as if to runaway from the night's cold hoping to find shelter in the warmth of my body; however, in my dream, I did not recollect the night air diminished to the point of shivers, nor elevated to the point of perspiration- it was, for lack of a better word, perfect (I shall leave the interpretation up to you).

Perfect. What can truly be perfect? I hate that word sometimes. Especially in this context because that moment and everything in it was perfect. We shared thoughts and knew where we wanted to be- right next to each other . She wrapped her left arm over my body as I tucked my left arm under her head and then the sweetest moment happened.. She placed her right hand on my chest, turned her face with eyes closed, and rested her ears upon my heart. She smirked. She began to listen. She tried to match the beating heart with hers as if that were possible. It was indeed romantic.

It was perfect. Oh how I hate that word with a passion right now. Why? Because in that moment, 3/4 of my mind lay ignorantly in blissful subconscious thought while the other quarter wages a war cry: "DON'T WAKE UP TO REALITY. PLEASE DON'T WAKE UP."

The tragedy in all of this is knowing that within your dream you begin to know you are dreaming. That's when the inevitable happens- you wake up.

To myself: Get a hold of yourself and drink a coffee or, as Justin Timberlake once said, go "cry me a river 'cause she's gone *hit falsettos here*"

To that woman: are you listening?

Probably not.

Celibacy Is A Spiritual Gift or If Chuck Norris Got Married, I Should Too.

To My Future Wife,
wherever you are and whatever your name is,
here's a few things on my mind:

Does this picture give you a sense of peace, inspiration, freedom, adventure, or, all of the above? I've cherished this picture since I was a freshman in High School.



I hope you like music because I'm trying to be an awesome musician.
I hope you like ping pong because seminarians are suppose to be good at that. I guess you don't have to play ping pong, but like watching ping pong, at least, me playing it.
Seminary...I hope you don't mind if (ugh...when) I become a pastor.

I hope you can tolerate awkwardness because many...many (unfortunately I'll have to add another 'many'), many times I'll try and be funny or cast a joke from the left field and, to my demise, fail epically.

I hope I can make you laugh.

I hope I don't regret publicly posting this on my blogspot.

Loving The Hell Out Of People or Kraft Easy Mac Ain't So Easy Is It?

I am mantled with Love's call. Boldness and courage are prescribed as a cure for a capricious, timid and perishable heart. However, it first takes a perturbed, uneasy, unsettled stomach, mislaying an acrid taste in your mouth, to accept the fact that the needle must puncture your skin; all of which, I, metaphorically, call a 'step of faith'. Yes, Faith. First, believing that God's love is unstoppable and secondly, which is the hardest part and, ideally, should come naturally in my opinion, taking (or embracing, speaking, et cetera, whichever word you desire to place there) that step into a realm where you fear an unexpected paradigm shift not knowing what the outcome may be; as well as, having sustained the Truth that God is perfect, that God is love, therefore, His love is perfect.

Once you're in, you might as well put your cards on the table and go all in. In that moment, I sincerely believe boldness and courage takes over because God's love is bold and courageous, hence, it's unstoppable.

"Easier said than done". Well, who the hell said that Faith is 'always' easy?

The Pews Of A Church or Are There Lazy Boy Couches In Heaven?

One of the great fears of being a pastor and/or shepherd, in my humble opinion, is the consumption of time over the ministry, more specifically, may I add, the church in whom you are shepherding. A word like negligence is erected atop of this great fear like how a pastor is elevated on a Sunday's pulpit, ironically speaking. A word like priority seems variable due to the cause of micromanaged meeting after meeting; people's pained emotions almost demanding prayer; counseling the disdained from unsettling issues from past times; speaking on a Sunday's pulpit without fail-let alone the time and energy it takes to prepare such a sermon; and the list can go on.

I'm not here undermining a pastoral work, nor am I claiming these few listed things to be such an encumbrance as to nullify the importance of it all. Quickly now, what I am trying to convey is the simple fact that serving a congregation with such diligence and passion-all to be of great virtue- can lead to neglecting one's own family, spouse, other engagements, celebrations, and, dare I say, for all one knows, personal hygiene.

Priority may seem to be lost when mantled with love's call.

Dear Pastors, I commend, respect, admire, and honor your services before the church.

Aside from personal neglect of priority such as family or other engagements, I personally feel that this great fear comes from an ignorantly deserted precedence that super exceeds everything else that was listed above.

"If a pastor is far more concerned about the pews of a church being filled than the seats in Heaven, shame on you"- Reverend Benny Hinn.

As far as I'm concerned, rather, with absolute more importance, how the very Word of God is concerned, there are no pastors, or anyone that holds a "church title" for that matter, exempt from witnessing their faith in Jesus Christ; nor does a Sunday's act of service justify such a ridiculous notion of exemption: that is just pure laziness if one would use such a pretext.

*sigh* Who would really want to be a Pastor after counting such a great cost? I pray that when that moment in time comes for me, I'll be able to stand tall on the Rock who is immovable; rest in Him whom my refuge lies; and be daring enough to obey love's call and be compelled to compassion like none has ever seen.

In the end when it's all said and done, the fat lady has sung, the church is raptured, and Christ has returned, I hope there's a lazy boy couch engraved with my name, stamped: "Good and Faithful Servant" next to Jesus watching a replay of creation in Heaven for me.

Reality Check.

My Faith or The Temperance of an Alcoholic

I once held the belief of there being no absolutes in life, rather, stood on the point that everything is relative. What a self-refuting mind I've once ignorantly had. Humbling to dwell on the past? Most Definitely. Today, I hold to the truth that the Lord God is Jehovah Jireh: "The Lord our Provider". The name comes from Genesis 22:14 in the context when God provided a ram in replacement of Isaac for Abraham's sacrifice. I also hold to the truth that anxiety over financial necessity, not 'want', may I clarify, is the outcome of little faith: Matthew 6:30.

Judging from the contents that proceed out from my lips on a Sunday's stage should speak of great faith, peace, and freedom. Then why is it at this very moment anxiety begins to encrust my mind like an army of ants over a corpse of a grasshopper?

Perhaps it's like my faith in God, presently, is like the temperance of an alcoholic in a dive bar; however, as oxymoronic as that is, it still doesn't make sense. And it is precisely that.

Reality Check.